Dragon Ball Super: Dead Zone
by YungDramps
Summary: The fate of Universe 6 lies in the hands of three colliding fates: The son of a once-powerful warlord seeking revenge for his father's demise, two Namekian warriors on a quest for redemption, and a Saiyan girl trying to break her shell and become the hero she was never supposed to be with the help of her humble commander.
1. Chapter 1 Part 1: Jumpstart

Dark clouds hung over the assembly of imposing metal spires and complex layout of streets and traffic lights that made up downtown Buran City. The night was a quiet one, save for the occasional rustling of insects, bits of trash tumbling down the sidewalks and the sirens of police craft on their late night patrol. In the southwestern-most corner of the city, there was a pharmacy with its windows sealed shut and an abandoned factory. Nestled between these two buildings was an unlit, narrow hallway of sorts. At the end of this passage was an unassuming dark blue door. What was on the other side of this door is something a greenhorn to the area could not expect.

It wasn't a storage room for either of the two neighboring buildings, nor was it empty. Tucked on the other side of this door was the Dushin Tavern. The floor was built with dark brown wood, and the walls were a white stone, adorned with lights and a variety of trinkets, including trophies, paintings and miscellaneous knick-knacks with questionable origins. At the end of the room was a fairly conventional bar with stools, a table and a rack of brews and spices, and to the right side of the room were stairs that led up to a second floor containing rentable rooms of various sizes. In its glory days, the tavern was a booming enterprise for a variety of guests. However, in these highly competitive and industrial times, the tavern had gained a new audience: a hideout for petty criminals. But tucked beneath the colorful swarm of petty crooks, boastful thugs and sniveling extortionists was a strangely out-of-place figure.

"Waiter!" Upon hearing this call, the burly butler with scarlet skin and a single crooked horn jutting from his forehead momentarily ceased sifting through the shelf behind the counter and turned around. He was stunned by who he saw staring back at him. For a moment he hesitated, but there was no doubt who it was; sitting on the centermost stool at the bar was the slender, white-skinned, blue-armed, black-tailed figure of the Arcosian crime lord Frost.

"Oh goodness, excuse my manners Mr. Frost! Make no mistake, I am honored by your presence at this tavern. With that said, isn't this place a little out of your league?"

"I don't want to talk about what I've been through these past few months. Just know that I don't have much money right now." Lightly placing a few brass coins on the counter, he added, "Just get me the best spirit this amount can buy."

While he hadn't been given any details on what this so-called turmoil was, the butler had had enough experience serving criminals that he knew what he might be talking about. He could see it in the alien's bloodshot eyes with dark blue bags just underneath him; he was a man on the run.

Upon being given a supple mug of scotch, Frost wasted no time gulping it down. It didn't matter how stale or poorly-aged it was compared to the fine champagne he was used to embibing; he just needed to get away for a moment. To get away from the constant mad rush to stay ahead of the law. To get away from his restless nights where he worried that time would suddenly stop, and that when it rebegan, he would have mere seconds of conciousness left to breath his final breaths. Oh, how he yearned for the good old days of walking around the gold-encrusted halls of his palace, watching the money pour in from his illegal hedge funds and fake charities, conversing with other high-profile gang leaders and bosses while watching the delightful dances of imported Earthling and Tuffle escorts...

But much like the few pleasures he could obtain in these harrowing times, the Arcosian's bout of introspection was cut off by a commotion at the door of the tavern. Still holding the mug, he turned around to see almost everyone in the bar crowded around a stubby hooded figure. By squinting a bit, Frost could make out the creature under the robe to be a Namekian. Already this was suspicious; Namekian criminals were incredibly uncommon. Even the goody-two-shoes Saiyans produced more rejects than them. To make matters even stranger, the man was being followed by two other aliens. To his left was a tall, dark green alien with a long portruding head, yellow eyes and black armor with two green spikes portruding from each shoulder plate. To his right was an elderly blue man, his face covered with wrinkles, long, white hair and a white mustache. The man also wore pink armor covered by layers of white cloth and a cape. This scene implied the little Namekian was in a position of power. This further unnerved Frost; Namekian criminals were one thing, but Namekian bosses were practically unheard of. And yet, in spite of how bizarre this sight was, it didn't confuse Frost. In fact, there was a nagging sensation in the back of his head that he had seen these people before...

Finally, after nearly a minute of murmuring and confusion, the Namek lifted his hood, revealing a lime head with dark green spots decorating his temporal regions. His voice was high-pitched, yet firm as he exclaimed "You there! Are you Frost?" The titular former crime lord woke up from his daze and hastily replied "Oh, yes yes. Listen, I'm not in the mood to talk right now..."

Before he could finish his statement, the midget marched up to him, cutting him off. "Oh, don't worry. I have already heard from your former comrades about your... ...predicament. I know full and well the hardship of being on the run. In fact, it is part of the reason I have come to you, Frost. You are stuck in a bad situation, and I can help you get out of it. In fact, with your cunning and my power and planning, we can bring about a new era on this entire Universe; an era where you and I are the pinnacle of wealth and power. Will you take this journey with me?"

Frost was stunned by the offer. Normally, he would discard such a thing as a ridiculous scam, or the tryhardish boasts of a rookie in the crime business. But now was not the time for cautiousness. Anything was better than running amock while barely fending off exhaustion. But still, he needed some sort of certainty. "Very well," the criminal stated, "but first I would like to know your name."

"I'm glad you asked. My name is Garlic Jr."

At the mention of this name, the whispering of the other frequenters of the tavern grew into loud, nervous murmuring. Frost's exhaustion temporarily melted away as a surge of memories returned to him of his earliest days as a grunt in smaller gangs. In his limited free time and during lunch breaks, he would regularly hear news from other crooks and his various bosses about the Namekian tyrant Garlic, who brought about destruction and oppression wherever he went. He now understood why the sight of Garlic Jr. and his minions was so familiar; he had seen those very same minions in newspaper articles about their troop's cunning and power. Garlic's reign of terror had ended quite some time ago, but now here was his own son standing before him, offering a chance to escape an endless downward spiral of poverty and fleeing. Frost now knew what his path would be.

"I a-accept your offer." the Arcosian stammered. Garlic Jr., with a crooked grin on his face, replied "Excellent. Now, let's rent you a room and get you rested. We have much to discuss."

As Frost, Garlic Jr. and his minions walked up the flight of stairs, the Namekian chimed in "Oh, how disrespectful of me! I almost forgot to introduce my partners. The blue one is Nicky. He's been serving the Garlic lineage ever since my father was in the prime of his days as a conqueror. He may be a little old now, but he can still provide great wisdom and companionship." At this compliment, Nicky closed his eyes and gave off a playful smile. His boss then continued his speech. "The big one is Sansho. He's the muscle of our team, and will be your bodyguard for the night." Frost had to resist jumping for joy at his news. A bodyguard, yes!

Finally, the party reached their room. Nicky pulled out a key he had gotten from the red man at the counter and turned open the door. The layout was modest; a two-room abode with a bedroom and a bathroom. Still, it would do. As Frost pathetically tumbled on the soft mattress, Garlic spoke to him one last time. "I can see that you're tired. Don't get too comfortable; we'll have to leave first thing in the morning. Once we get on my ship, I'll lay out the plan to you." Frost simply nodded off this statement before sleeping soundly for the first time in a long while.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2: Myth

Outside the Royal Palace of Sadal, the undeniable spirit of festivity was in the air. Already children and adults alike were gazing fondly upon and trying to snap pictures of the in-progress statue of the pure-hearted Android from Universe 7 who had saved two-thirds of the multiverse from erasure. Around the statue were a colorful array of tents, with workers dragging around tables and chairs into their appropriate places. In 3 days' time, these tents and tables would host a plethora of feasts and celebrations to commemorate the survival of Universe 6 and its Saiyan species.

Standing proudly on the upper balcony of his palace, Potat observed intently as the various attractions, stalls and games were assembled. As King, he wielded a charisma perfect for his role. On his head was a mat of black hair that started pointing upright at the right side of his head, with each thick lock becoming more bent and pointing further down as it went further to his left side. He had a long, bushy beard that reached all the way down to his pectoral region, coupled with sharp, emerald eyes that could impose respect and deference on an entire room without so much as saying a word. His muscular body was protected by thin, white armor with bright orange pointed shoulder guards and a stylized insignia of a tiger's head on his heart. His torso and below was covered by a purple robe, symboling his royal position. As he watched the scene down below, he was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder.

"Lord Potat," spoke the red-caped, mustached advisor that had caught the King's attention, "Commander Cabba has requested an audience with you." "Good," replied the King, "tell him I will be heading down to my office right away." At this command, the advisor bowed and sprinted out of the room.

As Potat carried a firm stride down the hall to his office, he passed by the glass windows of one of the large training rooms. A peek inside and the rumbling window revealed two foot soldiers flying and clashing through the room as Super Saiyans. The two soldiers spotted Potat glancing through the window and temporarily ceased their spar, landed on the floor and saluted him. The wise King saluted back before continuing his walk. _That Cabba's Super Saiyan training is truly something,_ he thought to himself. _When I have more time, I need to get him to teach me how to do it, too!_

He finally stopped at the end of the sky blue hallway, with the door to his office at the very right side. Opening the door revealed his desk with stacks of paperwork on top of it and, sitting with his arms rested on his small, light purple robe in front of this desk, Cabba. The youthful commander jolted up from his chair, shaking the King's hand in place of a salute before sitting back down. Potat took his seat on a comfortable, leather moving chair behind his wooden desk. Cabba wasted no time beginning his diatribe.

"First off, as you may have seen on your way here, the training of the Super Saiyan Squadron is going great. It seems to be quite easy to obtain the form if your power level is high enough."

"However, that is not the main reason why I am here. During the Tournament of Power, I made two key developments that could make our army even stronger. First off, I was able to discover how to obtain the level beyond Super Saiyan, otherwise known as Super Saiyan 2. It appears that in order to do so, you need to undergo a traumatic or life-threatening experience while already in your Super Saiyan state. I remain unsure as to how we can manage to train an army of 2nd level Super Saiyan fighters without forcing them to undergo stressful traumatic experiences like this, but just know that it is possible." To accentuate his point, Cabba transformed into a state resembling Super Saiyan, only with higher, thinner bangs and yellow lightning engulfing him. He quickly powered down after this; he could tell by the look on the commander-in-chief's face that he felt the power too despite not having his scouter on him.

"In addition, while I was helping recruit fighters for our team in the Tournament of Power, I met with two particularly exceptional girls. They are both part of a group of bandits I've been chasing for quite some time now. The first girl is named Caulifla; as the leader of the group, she is a prodigy who has learned both currently known Super Saiyan transformations with little effort, and is currently training to access a so-called Super Saiyan 3."

Potat stopped Cabba to think for a bit. Stroking his beard, he wondered, _Caulifla... ...Didn't I already send the chief of police after her? What the hell was that airhead doing, leaving the work to Cabba? Gah, I'm going to have to speak with him after this._ He then gestured Cabba to continue.

"But she's not even the best one. In her clan there's a girl by the name of Kale. She possesses a great friendship with Caulifla, to the point where they consider each other sisters. At first she seems frail and unassuming, but if she feels like Caulifla is endangered or that she has let her down somehow, she attains this... ...well, let's call it a 'mutation'..."

At this description, Potat sat further upright and interjected. "A mutatation you say? You mean some form of Super Saiyan, right?"

"Well, not exactly." Cabba replied. "Truth be told, I'm not even entirely sure if it's related to it. Like Super Saiyan, the user's hair sticks up and their power expands dramatically. However, Kale's hair becomes bright green rather than gold, and the muscle mass increase is significantly larger than normal. Instead of emerald eyes, they turn completely white. Until recently, she would completely lose control of herself upon transforming and would have to be calmed down; whether via friendly persuasion or by force. However, she has recently attained a slimmer, more controlled version of the form, where she..."

Cabba suddenly stopped, noticing Potat's change in mood. What was once a friendly smile had slowly morphed into a stern, neutral expression as Cabba had described Kale's unusual transformation. His eyes seemed less focused, as if he was spacing out. But deep down, Cabba sensed something else. Within the folds of the aging King's face and the clusters of scratches and small scars from bygone battles, he could distinguish a sense of unease.

For the next 30 seconds or so, Cabba tried to snap Potat back to attention. But the king was preoccupied with a newfound cluster of emotions with himself. Emotions that dated back to a memory he hadn't thought of for decades...

* * *

" _Class is dismissed!"_

 _At this announcement, a cluster of children wearing all manner of noble garb stormed out of the Sadal Royal Academy's biology lab, among them a 14-year-old Potat. While the rest hurried to the dining hall, he walked down the southern part of the hallway. In his left hand was a paper bag containing his lunch, and in the right one a book he had just finished reading about the history of the long-defunct Namekian slave trade, which he was going to turn in to the library in exchange for another book. If he wanted to be King some day, he figured, he needed as much knowledge and wisdom as he had strength._

 _Potat swung open the wooden doors of the library and slid his book into the "Returns" slot. He then marched down to the shelves in the back of the room, wasting no time scanning them for a new volume. The Royal Academy's library was one of the most celebrated parts of the school, with their books being not only being in tremendous supply and variety, but also kept in pristine condition and carefully sorted. So Potat was stunned to find a dusty, ripped-up book of children's fables between two autiobiographies from famous Saiyan military personnel. Dusting off the book and staring at the torn leather cover depicting a faded, hand-painted scene from the classic tale "The Fox and the Tree of Might", he wondered whether to hand the book back to one of the librarians or to just toss it into the garbage. But something compelled him to not do either._ Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to just skim through it, _Potat thought to himself. And so he did, taking care not to tear any of the yellowed pages further as he flipped through a variety of stories, some of which he remembered from his early childhood, and others which he did not._

 _Eventually, after reaching around the last third of the book, Potat stumbled upon an unusual page. First off, compared to the other pages, this one was in great condition, having zero signs of page yellowing or paint fading. At the top of this page was a large caption that read "The Violent Demon, Juuze". There was only a single drawing on this page right above the title, depicting an exaggeratedly muscular man with thick, flowing emerald hair and a long red robe around his waist. Compared to the other illustrations in the book, this one was less detailed, with the edges of the illustration being more jagged and inprecise. To top it all off, the story wasn't listed anywhere in the storybook's table of contents. Potat was more curious than offput, and he began to read through the messy, hurriedly-scrawled text:_

This is the earthly form of the Demon known as Juuze.

His Origin is unknown. All that is known is that he feeds on blood; more specifically the blood of Saiyans.

Every 10,000 years, he comes to the surface world to satisfy his hunger. He takes control of one chosen newborn, who he uses as his vessel.

The victim will be born with a higher-than-normal battle power, but will have a much slower growth rate. As they advance through their formative years, they will suffer from further symptoms, including stifled development of social skills and being provoked easily.

Once the victim reaches their 20th birthday, that is when Juuze prepares to strike. The next time they should be angered for any reason, whether it be feelings of betrayal, danger or sadness, no matter how insignificant those emotions are, they will open a gateway for Juuze to strike the victim's very Soul and fully take them over. Once this happens, the victim will take a form similar to the drawing seen above. From there, they will enter a rampage where they will kill as many Saiyans as possible. Once Juuze has had its appetite satisfied, he will exit the victim. This process is often too much for them, causing them to implode on themselves.

If you see a Saiyan possessed by Juuze, your only two options are to calm them down, either by persuasion or by force. It is possible to control a lesser version of the Demon's power, but few have succeeded in this endeavor.

The Demon shall reappear at Age 761.

 _After reading this passage, Potat's confusion and curiousity turned into disappointment._ Oh brother, another one of these insane superstitions _, he thought to himself. Upon handing the book back to one of the librarians and explaining its condition and what he had read, he shuffled back to a desk with one of the autobiographies that had been near it, slurping down some soup. His reading that day was occasionally interrupted by his thoughts on the strange book: Why was that particular page in such good condition? Where there records of any cults or people who believed in this so-called "Juuze?" These questions quickly subsided over the following days as Potat got busier with studying for end-of-year exams and projects._

* * *

After Cabba tapped him on the shoulder a few times, Potat left his period of introspection. Before the commander could interrogate him on that lapse in attention, Potat gave a simple request: "I would like to visit Caulifla and Kale, if that's OK with you." Cabba's air of suspicion faded away as he replied with an excited "Of course! I'm sure you'll love them." Potat then dismissed him with a salute as Cabba left his office.

* * *

The armored, orange-haired thug jogged down to the main room of the base. Carrying two massive cooked wings in his hands, he panted before placing the wings on Caulifla and Kale's plates. Before Kale could even begin to cut the meat with her silverware, her proverbial sister had already gobbled up half of her serving. "The meat's pretty good," she grumbled while chewing "albeit a bit too chewy." Not even a second after swallowing, she eagerly wolfed down the other half of the wing, leaving mere crumbs on the plate. By this point, Kale had only managed to eat a single piece of meat, and was just reaching to cut another piece. She was again interrupted, this time by rumbling. The entire room, furniture and silverware included, shook up and down as Caulifla's minions ran and looked around in confusion. Suddenly, the rumbling stopped, replaced by an amplified shout.

"This is the Sadal Defense Force! Anyone and everyone inside this building is to come out immediately!"

At this call, Caulifla and Kale huddled up with the rest of their goons, making sure they remembered their escape plan should an arrest be attempted. Walking behind their spiky-haired leader, Caulifla's gang came out of the base with their hands raised in the air, facing them a large blue hovering tank with two large groups of soldiers flanking either side of it. Suddenly, another, more familiar voice exclaimed "You can put your hands down!". Caulifla turned to see Cabba on the deck of the tank, standing next to a large bearded man she did not recognize. Breathing a sigh of relief, she and her comrades lowered their arms. The man standing beside Cabba floated down and walked up to her. Reaching a hand out, he proclaimed "Greetings, madam. I am King Potat of Sadal. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am here to inquire with you about a potential military opportunity." At this statement, Caulifla scoffed. "Quite your fancy talk! I'm not interested in this macho soldier stuff."

Potat nodded in acceptance. "Very well. You aren't the only one I came here to speak with, anyway." He then turned to see the darker-skinned girl with a red tanktop and skirt standing right behind Caulifla. "You. Are you Kale?" She nodded her head up and down. "Pleased to meet you! Would you mind coming a little closer so we can see you better?" Kale slowly walked towards Potat, who was now standing right in front of the small army. She was more socially confident than she used to be, but the sight of all these people watching her still got her a bit nervous. Eventually, she reached her destination, and Potat spoke up again. "Madam, Cabba has told me about your unique transformation. I would like to see it."

"Oh, uh... ...sure, I can do that. The controlled or uncontrolled version?"

"The controlled version please."

 _Dangit!_ , Kale thought to herself. _I haven't been practicing controlling my transformation. I'm not sure if I can do it this time..._

"Very well. Be warned, I haven't been practicing it, so please stand back, this may get a little bumpy..."

* * *

At the back of the line, two soldiers standing next to each other in formation exchanged confused glances. "Why are our King and Commander Cabba wasting their time with these thugs?" The brown-haired one asked. His friend, a slightly more muscular man with a mustache, shook his head. "Don't underestimate them, Daiko. Caulifla's gang has been a thorn in the side of law enforcement for ages. Cabba even recruited them for the Tournament of Power." "Really? They both look like pipsqueaks." Daiko replied. His comrade began "I may not know their true power, but they are pretty cute..."

The soldiers' train of thought was interrupted by a sudden tremor.

* * *

The small army watched on as Kale spread her legs and balled her hands into fists. As the ground shook and cracked and the girl's muscles expanded and convulsed, she was coated in a sickly green translucent aura. Her once docile black eyes morphed into a wild shade of gold. The braid that kept Kale's hair in a ponytail was engulfed by a green blaze, allowing every lock of hair to flow freely upward, flashing emerald green every other second. While her power continued to rise and rise, Kale gritted her teeth, using every fraction of her willpower to keep the full raging power of her form from spilling out in an uncontrollable rampage. Eventually, after her arms and legs had nearly tripled in size, the aura sizzled away, leaving the girl in her half-transformed state, her shoulders oozing smoke. Taking a deep breath, she slowly but steadily shrunk down her muscles back to a smaller, yet still fearsome size. Finally, she loosened control slightly, letting her hair permanently take on that shiny green color that had flashed earlier, her body now emanating a more natural Super Saiyan aura.

Upon attaining her controlled Super Saiyan form, Kale immediately jumped for joy. Upon opening her eyes again, she saw the wall of soldiers staring at her form, mouthes agape and with sweat on their brow. A select few of them had pieces of colored glass broken off from their scouters at their feet. "I wouldn't put much stock in their reaction" said Potat, "they're just unfamiliar with your form, that's all."

"You have great talent, Kale. Some might say otherwise, but I think it could be put to great use. Would you like to join the Defense Force?"

Kale gave a shaky response. "Sure, I could give it a try... ...but I'm not sure about abandoning sis...". Her voice was deeper for sure, but tonally it was indistinguishable from the awkward, lanky girl she was prior. She rushed over to her lifelong friend, softly speaking to her.

"Sis, I don't know if I can handle being part of the Sadal Defense Force on my own. I really wanna, but..."

"Oh, stop it Kale!" replied Caulifla. "I think it's better for you to be out and about rather than being stuck in some groggy den with a bunch of sweaty knuckleheads anyway. Besides, you can always come visit me if you want."

"I guess you're right, but it's just that-"

"Look, if you're getting all worried that people will get freaked out by your Super Saiyan form, don't worry about it. Just see it as a challenge: You may scare them off at first, but you're gonna dissuade their fears by doing the best you can, right Kale?!"

This talk was enough to elate the girl's spirits. Still in her transformed state, she ran back to Potat, excitedly proclaiming her acceptance. She then rushed over to give Cabba a big bear hug. While the young commander blushed, the very same soldiers who not even a minute ago were horrified by Kale's transformation and readying their weapons were now struggling to restrain laughter at the scene before them. As Cabba climbed back up to the deck of the tank with Kale along with the soldiers preparing to leave, Caulifla had one final exchange with him:

"Hey! Just because you're buddies with Kale doesn't mean my gang's gonna stop our ways! You better believe we're still gonna be looting and shooting just like old times!"

"In that case, I'm gonna have to work harder to stop you!"

"I'd like to see you try, little man!"

With that exchange over, Caulifla and the remaining gang members walked back into their den as Potat's army marched off.


	3. Chapter 1 Part 3: Judgment

The air was still within the hollow stone hut. No noise could be heard inside save for the far-off, muffled roars of the wild beasts of Namek. Inside the hut, Saonel sat on a small wooden chair, his long talons anxiously fiddling with a pebble, sweat coating his dark green brow. His antennae flicked and twitched with uncertainty. He knew deep down what was coming to him, and he feared it deeply.

Finally, he took a deep breath and carefully exited his hut. As he trudged down the dirt path, he was met with the scents of ceremonial candles and the smoke of roaring fires, the chants of fellow Namekians completing their daily prayers, work songs and rituals. The sounds were typical for him, but on this day, they were quieter, more reserved and less confident; the voices of many men and children were missing from the familiar amalgamation of dances and hymns. Saonel finally looked up from the path to witness scores of empty huts just like his. As for the ones that were occupied, he could see the Namekians inside glaring at him, like he had just committed some sort of unspeakable crime. The anxious warrior flicked his head away from the swarm of blank faces riddled with suspicion. Shaking himself out of his frightened stupor, he continued his trek.

As he walked, the distance between him and the village grew and grew. He was now on the apex of a grassy hill, bundles of blue trees and a lake being the only visible thing for miles around him. Again he stopped, but not due to his own volition.

 _The lake! Oh, how I clamor to bathe in it! Let me go, let me go!_

 _I used to love to run around in the grass, and I will once more when I am freed from this incompetent beast._

 _Oh, please be merciful to Saonel! He's been under a lot of stress these past few days, and he tried his best…_

" _Trying his best" would've gotten our entire Universe annihilated!_

"ENOUGH!" Saonel angrily shouted, quelling the voices inside him before their discussion could spill into an argument. He once again resumed his walk, his steps more forceful and firm than ever before. Upon reaching the other base of the hill, he could see the silhouette of the Hall of Elders on the horizon.

* * *

Finally, after another 15 minutes of walking, he reached the entrance of the Hall. The tall, spherical stone structure and its massive, gaping open wooden doors intimidated him, the statues to either side of the door of famous Namekian heroes, proudly wielding spears and scimitars from long-gone days taunted him. They had died proud, as legends to their people. If what Saonel believed what was about to happen transpired today, he would die a disgrace, barely above a demon in the eyes of current and future generations.

After taking an even deeper breath and wiping the accumulated sweat of himself, he walked inside. Upon entering the main room, Saonel's first sight was Pirina, sitting on one of the two chairs that had been laid out for the brothers-in-arms to testify before the Elders. Saonel awkwardly shuffled into the vacant seat. On his comrade's face was an attempt at a brave smirk, reduced by the the gravity of the situation into a blank, hollow gaze. The two waited eagerly, each tick of the wooden clock directly above the judges' podium eating away at their feeble facades of composure and tranquility. Finally, a tribune of elders took their seats; the chubby, black-robed Lute, the skinny, white-robed Cello wielding glasses, and the red-robed, balanced Xylo standing directly on the central podium. Few spectators were in the circular row of seats wrapped around the edge of the colosseum. With everything in place, Xylo wasted no time beginning the trial.

"Saonel, we have determined that you and your partner Pirina, in spite of the combined efforts of over 60% of our tribe, have failed to procure an adequate result in the Tournament of Power. What do you have to say of this?"

"Elder, do understand." Pirina began, his partner still too nervous to speak. "We put in our best effort, but the other fighters were simply too powerful for us."

"That excuse won't cut it, I'm afraid." Cello chimed in. "Remember, this was entirely your idea. You promised everyone that with their powers combined, it would be more than enough to defeat even the top tier threats in the Tournament. The only reason we even gave our blessings to your plan to begin with was because it was the biggest threat to the existence of our entire species in thousands of years, and it was either approve it or have our species and all of Universe 6 be erased. Lute, remind me again: What was the combined amount of knockouts Saonel and Pirina got?"

"Absolutely zero." Lute replied in an almost snarky tone.

What followed was a brief silence, where Pirina once again contemplated what he would say next. He knew it was pure desperation, but he figured it was worth a try. Once again he spoke. "Is it really that big of a deal? Our universe and our species is secure."

Xylo's face contorted into a frown. "Our universe is safe solely because some android had enough kindness in his heart to bail us out with his wish to the Super Dragon Balls. You played no role in ensuring our survival, nor convincing said android to make his bold choice. And our species? Secure?! Pirina, there are hundreds of Namekians inside of you alone. Hundreds of workers, tamers, fishers and farmers. Our crops and other goods for trade have nobody to oversee them, house chores remain undone. Families have been torn to shreds, and entire settlements are now ghost towns, all because of a promise you couldn't keep."

At this statement, Cello and Lute nodded in unison. Xylo then demanded the pair to voice any further objections they had. Pirina and Saonel tried so hard to bring themselves to say something, anything to save themselves from the punishment they could already foresee. But they knew that no matter how hard they tried to market their potential usefulness, everything the Elders had just said was completely true, and that even if it wasn't, their minds were made up anyway. The pair felt like they had a weight crushing their throats, choking out their ability to even speak a single word. At their silence, Xylo gave a solemn nod and delivered the speech Saonel and Pirina had been mentally preparing themselves for for the past 3 days.

"Saonel and Pirina, your bodies and reputation are tainted. Tainted by the hatred and scorn of the souls inside you, tainted by your failure to pay them back for the faith they had in you, tainted by the ills you have brought upon our civilization. As such, they cannot and will not be used for any sort of sacrifice. At the same time, we are not a warmongering society, nor one with plenty of material wealth a criminal or warlord would pursue, making your strength useless for conquest or defense. As such, only one option remains: To take the souls out of your body and place them back in theirs via the process of Soulsowing. The procedure will almost certainly result in your death and will be excruciatingly painful while you remain conscious, but we believe it is adequate punishment for taking advantage of a horrific crisis to fulfill your own delusions of grandeur, only to completely and utterly fail to make any sort of impact, even on the weakest foes in the Tournament of Power."

* * *

At this point, Saonel should've broke down. His fate was sealed, all his fears had come to life, and there was no way to escape it without becoming a vagabond and fleeing the planet, doomed to spend the rest of his life with enraged spirits stuck inside his head, with even the few who forgave him turning against him, regularly reminding him of his dishonor and cowardice. And yet something compelled him to stand up. He couldn't give up; he was staring death in the face, and for reasons unknown, he decided to defy the fate that had been laid for him, or at least stall it out.

"Elder Xylo, do you not think this is a waste? We are some of the strongest Namekian warriors to ever live by virtue of the amount of people we have absorbed, and you intend to discard us without witnessing our full potential? You say you have no need for us, but think about this. What if an enemy comes who you cannot prevail against? An enemy who has reasons to defeat you more personal than gold and jewels? What then? Do you run for help as usual? Try to make another 100-man abomination, crippling the economy further and making yourselves look like fools in the process ? Deal with me how you will, but I believe that you are the ones who will end up suffering from this decision the most."

A long silence followed this speech. The air once again adopted that eerie stillness Saonel had felt before leaving his hut. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Xylo uttered two words.

"30 days."

"What?"

"30 days. That's how long you have to prove that the sacrifice truly wasn't a waste. How you'll do that is up to you, but if you cannot prove your worth to us, no amount of persuasion or idle chatter will be able to stave off your fate any longer. Now go."

At those final words, almost like it was a command addressed to themselves, the elders and the select few in the stands stood up and shuffled their way out of the Hall, leaving Saonel and Pirina to sit in the middle of the court, not making a sound. Even as they began to make their steady steps together back to their village, they did not so much as acknowledge one another. Meanwhile, both of their thoughts were occupied by the ensuing hundred-man argument now raging on inside both of their heads. Was Saonel's speech insolence to save his own skin or a stunning show of bravery? Could they serve use as exceedingly powerful warriors, or was this excess strength as useless as the elders had decreed? And most importantly and pressingly of all, did they deserve this chance at redemption, and if so, how could they and would they fulfill it? Regardless of what their host bodies believed, the various young and old souls housed within them argued and argued.

* * *

Finally, the life-long comrades reached the very same grassy hill where the first argument had occurred in Saonel's head.

"So brother, how do you propose we're gonna prove our worth to the elders?" asked Pirina.

"We have to leave." Saonel replied. "We have to leave for Planet Sadal and bring our case to Cabba. From there, we have to hope we are given a spot in their police force and sent on a hard enough mission."

Pirina opened his mouth to object, but all he could do was let it hang open for a few seconds before it closed again. He knew there were no better options; they already had connections with the Saiyan elites from the Tournament of Power, and they could probably muscle through some of the paperwork should they allow them to stay. Saonel then began jogging, with his comrade right behind him.

* * *

When their run ended, they had arrived at a dock. The entrance was shuttered by a blue steel door with a giant green symbol of a Namekian's head on the front doors. Next to the door was a button. As Saonel headed to press it, another voice rung in his head, this time one of an older man.

 _Don't you dare step foot in there! If you desecrate your father's legacy just to cowardly flee, the gods shall eternally curse you…_

Saonel pressed the button, totally disregarding this threat. On a normal day, this would've gotten him to back down, but his successful testimony against the Elders filled him with a new sense of youth and rebelliousness; he was not going to let any old mens' outbursts decide whether he lived or died.

As the hangar doors slowly ratcheted open, Pirina got a good look at the former workshop of Saonel's father. On the left side of the worn gray room were stacks of cardboard boxes with various tools, parts and wires leaking out onto the floor. To the right was a trophy case filled with accolades and proof of the various milestones of his father's illustrious career as a mechanic. But the most fantastical specimen was in the middle of the room; a modified Galactic Patrol cruiser, a dome-shaped vessel painted green and red, plastered with decals of all the unions, companies and conventions Saonel's father was a part of, and with a single glass cockpit with two seats in it, along with all the ship's controls.

Pirina got into the cockpit along with Saonel, who was preparing the vessel for take-off. When Saonel was younger, his father had given him some basic training on how to control the ship, so he knew it was not an issue. However, he… …disappeared before he could teach his son about the mechanics of the ship and the various troubleshooting procedures. Considering the humble ship hadn't been started in a while, Saonel was initially worried. To his pleasant surprise, the ship's engine activated with relatively little trouble and more than enough fuel to make it to Sadal, assuming he used an ideal route.

As the ship began to hover out of its hangar and over the plains and huts of Namek, a new worry overcame the two men piloting it. They had never left their planet; Saonel's father had strictly forbidden him from travelling between planets with his ship while he was still in-training, and while they had participated in the Tournament of Power, that was a controlled environment where they weren't forced to learn about the competitors' cultures and beliefs, nor learn the landscapes of their homelands. They were able to suppress this worry by reminding themselves of what would happen if they turned back, but only barely. Closing his eyes and taking one final deep breath, Saonel lifted up a lever on the control panel and sent the ship into its highest gear, rocketing off Namek's surface.


	4. Chapter 2: The Travellers

The sun slowly rose over the grassy hills of Sadal's outskirts, illuminating the vast canyon dividing the large stretch of plain and awakening the animals on the surface. On the edge of the canyon was a grid of metal, rectangular buildings, housing the dorms and training facilities of the Sadal Defense Force.

Inside one of the rooms, Cabba woke up to a start as the warm sunlight shined through the window and directly on to his face. Glancing at the clock on the desk next to his bed, he noticed that it would still be another 20 minutes before the soldiers in the base would be awoken to complete their training and other duties for the day. Nonetheless, the Saiyan groggily lifted himself from his bed, slipping out from under the covers and fetching his battle suit from his dorm's closet. He made his way down to the dining room on the second floor of his dorm building where he would fetch his breakfast. Upon stepping into the sterilized, crystalline white room with a light blue floor, he was surprised to find Kale already at one of the tables with her back pointed towards Cabba and with her battle suit equipped, identical to the commander's with the exception of the light purple robe being a red color, denoting her lower-ranking position. Cabba went up to greet her, only to notice her rocking her leg and back and forth. She turned to her friend, her pupils dilated and with a grimace on her face. "H-h-hey Caba-ba-ba-ba!" she said with gritted teeth. In her hand was a gray mug with an orange liquid in it, some of which was dripping down the side. _Oh dear..._ Cabba thought to himself.

"You're not used to Balsa juice, are you?" he asked as he grabbed a mug from the kitchen counter, went over to a nearby vending machine and poured a few drops of the drink into his mug. He took a sip, and was immediately energized, and went on to explain in more detail. "Balsa fruits are tasty, but they contains lots of caffeine. You're only supposed to drink a little bit in the morning to help yourself wake up. From the looks of it, you drank half a cup..." Cabba said the last part amidst stifled laughter. "No, I'm totally ok!" Kale replied, her voice trembling as she struggled to get the words out. As the minutes passed, various other soldiers poured into the the dining room for their morning juice and breakfast, having a good laugh at Kale's erratic, but steadily relaxing behavior. Their hobnobbing was cut short by King Potat's advisor barging into the room, requesting Cabba come outside with him to speak in private.

The two walked out of the building into the middle of the military complex. As they spoke, groups of soldiers walked all around them, bustling in and out of the district's buildings.

"Master Cabba, two Namekians have appeared at one of the space ports." began the red-headed, mustached advisor. "They claim to know you from the Tournament of Power and need your help. It's an emergency situation, they say." Cabba immediately remembered the two Namekian fighters he had met as the Universe 6 team was being created. While they hadn't had much time to interact prior to the Tournament of Power starting, he did recall them being a bit more anxious and reserved in the training their team did; even the silent assassin Hit was able to crack more jokes in the face of such a horrific situation. _Whatever this is about_ , Cabba thought, _it must have something to do with the Tournament of Power. At least, I hope it is…_

"Do the Namekians go by the names of Saonel and Pirina?"

The advisor nodded.

"Advisor Okra, inform the border guards that I will be arriving shortly. In the meantime, let the two past security, but keep them within the building."

Okra nodded again, pulling out a scouter from his pocket and turning it on to relay Cabba's order to the immigration workers. As this was happening, Cabba felt strange, like someone was watching them. He turned around, and sure enough, hiding behind a nearby hangar was Kale, timidly looking upon the two men. Upon making eye contact, she tried to hide behind the wall of the hangar to no avail. "It's OK, Kale. You can come along if you want!" Cabba said. The Saiyan girl peeked out again from behind the hangar. She took a moment to process what had been said before walking over, her spirits newly elated.

* * *

The private vessel of the Sadal Defense Force cleaved through the sky as it flew away from the military complex. Inside its steel cockpit enshrouded by glass, Okra took on the role of pilot, carefully guiding the ship above the vast, wooded canyon. Right behind him was a small set of red leather seats for passengers, one of which was occupied by Cabba, his legs crossed and eyes closed as he took a brief respite. Meanwhile, over at one of the right windows, Kale stood, her face and hands squished up against the glass, eagerly surveying the clusters of trees, rocks and hills that made up the Sadal wildlands. As she looked on for the next few minutes, the trees grew progressively sparse and the bumps and crags of the terrain became less pronounced. More interestingly though, littered throughout the new landscape were a couple of houses, typically accompanied by swathes of irrigated farmland and cultivated fields where livestock pranced. As the trip resumed, the houses grew bigger and their quantity increased. The materials from which they were built became progressively sturdier; from wooden shacks to sturdy, semicircular brick-and-mortar abodes. Not all of them were farmland, either. Elementary gravel roads started to run through the sets of houses as well. Kale decided to lift her head from the glass of the ship's side and look ahead, seeing how dense the sets of houses would become. She gasped when, just over the yellowed horizon, she witnessed a massive formation of buildings of inconceivable heights. From this distance, she was able to make out a few specs travelling between and away from the buildings, on the ground and in the sky.

"Have you never seen big cities like Sadal City before?" Chimed in Cabba with a tap on the shoulder, having noticed the poor girl's shock. Kale hesitated for a bit, ultimately uttering a solemn "Of course I have, it's just that…" she paused before speaking again. "Me and sis have done quite a few robberies in nearby towns and cities for a while now, and we've… Well, we've certainly left our mark..." As they got closer to the city, the booming engine of a passing airship distracted them. Cabba waved to the tourists snapping pictures of the military ship through the windows of the blimp's larger-than-normal cockpit. While this was happening, Kale saw some corporate logos plastered onto the blimp's side, reminding her of heists she and the rest of her former gang had done in months and years long past. This brief distraction was not enough to stop their ship's course, nor slow it down for long.

* * *

The terminal of the Sadal Spaceport was bustling with Saiyans and other aliens, riding through a complex network of escalators and security checks to get to their flights in and out of the planet. Colored banners lined the railings of the building's second floor, composed of bulletproof glass with small restaurants and shops lining the northern wall of the floor. Even amidst all this commotion, however, Saonel and Pirina stuck out like a sore thumb. Tucked in the corner of the first floor, the two had been sitting the compact, square-shaped immigration office for nearly half an hour; an unusual length of time considering how quickly such things were handled with the Spaceport's up-to-date flight accounting technology, courtesy of Tuffle engineers. The Namekian pair, in spite of being unfamiliar with the typical pace of commerce in the facility, were nonetheless painfully aware of the sort of attention they brought to themselves by merely sitting down in the plastic chairs in the middle of that carpeted room, and how said attention was ramping up every second they remained there. Every so often through the translucent windows of the office, they were able to distinguish faces of confusion and curiosity in the arrivals and departing passengers. _They think we're bloody terrorists…_ grumbled a teenage soul within Pirina as he saw a gaggle of Saiyan women in colorful dresses staring at them through the glass, uttering unintelligible gossip. This small commotion was stopped by an immigration officer. Having formerly resided the empty desk in front of the two eagerly awaiting Namekian men, the gray-coated Saiyan wielding a visorless, curved white helmet shooed the group away before walking into the office. "Master Cabba shall be arriving in a few minutes." was all he said before slipping off his helmet, plopping back into his rolling desk chair and attending to a supple stack of paperwork that had been tucked within the desk's drawers.

Sure enough, a few brief minutes later, Commander Cabba walked through the doors of the office, with Kale following close behind him. He too took a seat, a firm handshake from the humble smiling soldier able to temporarily distract Saonel and Pirina from the severe situation they were in. At his request, the two explained they events of the past few days; the promise to their people and how they had failed to adhere to it, the depopulation of their tribe and villages as a result of their botched promise and their trial where they had managed to stall their demise by a fair bit. They also explained the procedure and dangers of Soulsowing, and ultimately their true reason for coming to Sadal; not to flee, but to join their Defense Force in hopes of being able to complete some sort of mission that would redeem them in the eyes of their people. Cabba and Kale nodded in understanding, guiding them out of the spaceport in silence.

"Where are we going?" asked Saonel as the party of four headed towards the front doors of the space port.

"Since you two are unfamiliar with our society and Kale has been an outlaw for quite some time," said Cabba, "I have decided to give you a little tour. For now, don't worry about catching baddies or adhering to your deal with the elders: Just sit back and I'll guide you. OK?" Saonel, Pirina and Kale nodded as the glass doors to the spaceport lobby swung open, revealing a majestic scene of towering skyscrapers, flashing neon lights and clusters of small vehicles flying between buildings, casting a shadow as the fierce sun of the Universe 6 Saiyans' planet shined behind it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sadal City!" exclaimed Cabba as the group walked out into the busy street in front of them.

* * *

The roller coaster wheels glided down the crimson metal tracks, its patrons screaming as the vessel twisted and turned. Cabba and Kale had taken the very front car, at the front of was attached a scaly model of the head of an Oozaru. Saonel and Pirina were in the car directly behind it, wearing a relatively uninterested look compared to everyone else on the ride. As the coaster slowly climbed up the biggest drop of the coaster which immediately preceded a lengthy corkscrew, Cabba's showed an uncharacteristic boldness. "I've wanted to be on this coaster since I was a young one," he shouted down the row of cars, "but I was always too scared, particularly of this drop. With my newfound military expertise and power, I'm gonna finally conquer it!" By the time his speech was over, the coaster had already reached the peak of the drop; not even 2 seconds later, it lurched and shuttled downward, the tail on the back of the coaster beginning to wag in response to the increased speeds. The Namekian warriors continued to bear their disinterested expressions, now with their long ears closed up to block the noise of the attendees, their yells louder than ever. Cabba and Kale grimaced slightly and held on tighter to their seats, but they did not scream.

Following the exit from the corkscrew, the Oozaru-themed rollercoaster slowed down, riding along a straight stretch of track preceding the station. The passengers piled on to make room for new ones; Saonel and Pirina had scarcely changed, and Kale was a bit dizzy, but otherwise unaffected. That left Cabba, who was standing in front of them. His back still turned to the party, he said "Well, I was right, I didn't get scared this time." He turned his face to the Namekians and Kale. "Doesn't mean it was a good idea, though!" Saonel smirked and Kale giggled softly as Cabba cupped a hand over his mouth, running over to a nearby trash can with bulging cheeks and wide eyes.

* * *

Following their visit to theme park, the group then walked down the street, passing by a nearby shopping center. The area was semicircular, with a ring of stores wrapping around a square parking lot, at the center of which was a large statue depicting an ancient Saiyan warrior holding a sword. As they passed by, Cabba noticed a discrepancy at the very base of the statue.

"Step right up, boys and girls!" Exclaimed a large, bald Saiyan wearing a top hat, suit and tie. He gestured towards a yellow high striker behind him, decorated with simplistic, poorly drawn pictures of muscular men with Super Saiyan hair. People were gathering around, each taking turns giving money to the man to grab the rubber hammer and try to strike the puck up to the 3-meter tall bell, typically failing. "Oh brother…" Cabba mumbled under his breath as he ran over to the display, Kale and the Namekians in tow. Upon arriving there, Cabba pulled the owner of the attraction aside. "Hello there, I am Cabba of the Sadal Defense Force. Have you obtained a permit from the landowners to host your game in this parking lot?" The Saiyan reached into his pockets, shrugging as he pulled out nothing but money. "In that case," Cabba continued, "I kindly ask you to immediately remove this attraction and pay all the money you've earned as a fine."

The haughty Saiyan did not heed to this order, however. Crossing his arms, he glared at the comparatively short commander. "Oh yeah? And why should I listen to you? I bet you're just scared that you'll be too weak to complete the game. Ha, you probably can't even get it half-way!" Cabba was now beginning to grow irritated with the man's arrogance. His friendly tone gone, he firmly began to state "This is no laughing matter, sir. I am a high ranking official. If you keep up this behavior, I can gladly increase your fine and perhaps even make you serve time in prison." Even with this threat, the man continued to heartily laugh. Just about ready to cuff him, Cabba noticed Kale. Her usual neutral expression was replaced with a light smile. She winked at Cabba, the iris of the winking eye slightly dilating and flickering yellow for a split second. Her commander immediately understood. Turning back to the insubordinate man, he spoke again, he too wearing a similarly sly grin. "Alright then, sir, we'll make a deal." He pointed to Kale. "If my partner over there can't win the high striker game, I'll pay _you_ double the amount of money you would have owed me as part of the initial fine. If she doesn't succeed, I pay you " The man chuckled the hardest he ever had thus far upon eyeing the unassuming Kale.

Cabba, Saonel, Pirina and all the other citizens stood back as Kale made her way up to the lever, the formally-dressed host at her side, snickering at the thought of the supposed failure to come. Instead, he found himself being knocked off-balance by a sudden shockwave. He looked over to Kale, her muscles thicker and her hair extended and shining green, emitting a mighty roar as she smashed her fists into the button. The mechanism crushed under the weight of the blow as the puck flew up so fast as to shatter the bell in half and skyrocket into the air, completely vanishing from sight. Cabba and Saonel looked over to the host, about to request their reward. Before they could speak, a wallet stuffed with coins smacked Cabba in the face as the man who had hosted the high striker piled into a small white ship and blasted off. The two looked back at Kale, who was still in her controlled Legendary Super Saiyan form and looking upon the stunned crowd with a slight blush. Before she could power down and apologize, a young Saiyan boy hoisting a blue backpack on his shoulders walked up to Kale. "That was soooo coool! Can I get an autograph please?" the boy exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a pencil and notebook and handing it to the surprised, but secretly proud soldier girl.

* * *

The day continued to pass by. The sun slowly rose over Sadal City as the hours came and went, and eventually began to set, giving way to a slowly emerging starry night sky, marking the arrival of the afternoon. By this point, Cabba and his friends were relaxing on the top floor of one of the city's taller skyscrapers, its lower rooms home to a vast mall. The man himself was sitting at a table, looking onward at the various activities going on around him. Kale was the entertainment for the evening, giving the younger children piggyback rides and autographs and arm-wrestling with the adults, all while practicing controlling her emerald-haired form. What really caught the commander's fancy, however, was Saonel and Pirina, both of whom were at the edge of the balcony, staring outward into the moon-lit half of the sky. On its own, this wasn't so strange, but Cabba recalled the pair having been in that exact position around half an hour ago. It didn't take a professional psychologist to figure out something was wrong.

Cabba walked up and tapped Saonel on the shoulder. "Is everything OK? I know you're probably still anxious over the trial, but I still think you should try your best to let go and socialize a bit."

"That's not the issue." the Namekian responded at a speed that caught Cabba off guard. "For the past hour or so, Pirina and I have been feeling positively dreadful. It's definitely fear, but it's not about the trial; it's something stranger, more distant." He outstretched his hand in front of his face. "All the souls inside us feel it too. They've been deathly quiet for this past hour. That isn't normal. If they were in their original bodies, they would probably be shuddering right about now." He dropped his hand to his side, once again resuming his staring.

"I… _we_ don't know why. But we have this unshakable feeling something horrible is about to happen…"

* * *

Xylo exited out of his pensive trance, waking at the sound of a familiar call. "Greetings Elder Xylo," Cello proclaimed, poking his glasses as he entered the room Xylo was standing in, "how have you been feeling?". The red-robed, pudgy elder merely ignored his lifelong friend's question, continuing to stare blankly out of the window. This window, combined with the height of this floor of the Hall of Elders, allowed him a vantage point through a line of trees to see a large tower in the distance, merely a silhouette against the olive-green backdrop of the night sky of Namek. Cello emitted an exasperated sigh, knowing what his friend's response, or rather a lack thereof, meant. "You feel it as well, I imagine? This frightening, numb sensation?" he asked. "In case you were wondering, the villagers are feeling it, too. Some of them can't muster the energy to work, even." Xylo responded with a sound "hmph", returning to his concentration. For about a minute there was an awkward silence, the pair thinking to themselves. Cello walked up next to Xylo and prepared to speak. The truth was, he had an idea - no, he _knew_ deep down what this strange sign meant, but he did not wish to name his suspicion out loud. "You know, Xylo, it is said that many eons ago, every Namekian in Universe 6 was united into one entity." Xylo scoffed at this statement. "Cello, I may be worried, but I am certainly not an amnesiac! This is the most basic, well-known story there is, I'm fairly sure they were telling this to us when we were but hatchlings. Why do you feel the need to remind me of this?" Cello adjusted his glasses before continuing. "Well, as you know, when we were all united as the Original Namekian, it is said that he could feel the emotions of all those inside of him. If enough were sad, he too felt sad. If enough were angry, he too became frustrated. He was particularly receptive to evil, however; if even just a few of his souls were plotting something awful, he would immediately catch on and dispel the evil thoughts of those men."

"Xylo," he continued, "is it possible that the one triggering this sensation is a Namekian? More specifically, a Namekian so horrid as to revive the instinct of our ancient ancestor within us?" The Elder contemplated this. "It makes some sort of sense, but in that case, who could be triggering it?" Xylo questioned. "Before you bring them up, I highly doubt it would be Saonel or Pirina. They're undisciplined and tend to bite off more they can chew as you are so painfully aware, but they're far from evil, certainly not bad enough to trigger this feeling." Xylo looked back at the spire on the horizon. Even from his distance he could see the silhouettes of burly Namekian men, climbing the steps of the tower while escorting another, slimmer Namekian with them. At the top of the tower, candles were being lit and a stream of chanting could be heard all the way from Xylo's location. Xylo himself continued to think. What sort of Namekian being could generate this feeling…

At that moment, Xylo's eyes snapped wide open as recollection flashed through his mind.

* * *

 _Xylo lifted himself off the ground, groggy from the beatdown. His right arm had been cleanly sliced off, purple blood oozing and tainting his dirty red robe. The green morning skies were practically invisible, totally shrouded by the pillars of smoke emitting from the seas of burning huts. The stench of dirt and carbon greeted the dazed Elder-in-training's nostrils, and his ears were filled with the sounds of far-off screams and violence._

" _Get up." A nearby man growled, his voice laced with unadulterated, primal anger. With great difficulty, Xylo bent up his head to face his foe once again. One could call him a Namekian, but that would be rather merciful; the pink strands of flesh on a typical Namekian's chest and arms were non-existent on this monster, replaced instead by grotesque, bloated muscles. Veins pulsed and twitched across the Namek's dark aquamarine skin, his antennae gone, his eyes totally white and his lower body covered with a black robe adorned with blood-red, stylized flame patterns sprouting from the bottom of the robe. As the beast stood there staring him down, Xylo was able to crane his head just a little more to see a large castle floating in the air amidst the chaotic scene of smoke and lasers._

" _Too broken to arise?" the putrid Namekian inquired. "Hehe… Good. Now it is time to do away with you and your decadent traditions." At this call, the Namekian lifted his arms and placed his palms together. He extended them outward away from each other, a dark, swirling energy ball slowly growing in between the two giant hands. As he watched on in silent terror, Xylo tried to use his training to sense how powerful the ball was. No matter how hard he concentrated, however, he couldn't sense anything. Even some of the weaker warriors from earlier in the great battle he had been able to sense; nothing came from the tyrant's steadily growing blast. Finally, capping off his charge with a grin, the evil Namekian put his left arm to his side, pointing the ball with his right hand towards the crippled Xylo._

" _In a way, Elder Xylo, your end is a true literary tragedy. The culture you have been trained to lead has thrived on bloodshed and a draconian code of honor, and yet you and your pitiful 'brothers' will die in disgrace, having begged to those damn Saiyans for assistance and still failing to lay a finger on me."_

 _The Namekian let out a sickening, high-pitched cackle that totally contrasted with his deep, guttural voice before facing Xylo once again, preparing to deliver the finishing blow._

" _Hakai."_

* * *

"Elder Xylo, Elder Xylo!"

Xylo was shaken out of his stupor by Cello. "Oh, sorry," he quietly mumbled. "I was just… …thinking for a bit." Cello stood in silence for a bit in the face of this statement before leaving. Xylo knew full well he hadn't bought his excuse at all, but he didn't care.

The Elder faced back towards the tower. Now the silhouettes were on the very summit, the chanting having grown even louder. One of them stood over another silhouette, pulling out what could be distinguished as a small, yellow Ki dagger. As the man burrowed the weapon into the lanky Namekian's flesh, screams of pain interlaced with joy spread throughout the night. Amidst the cacophony of the sacrifice, Xylo uttered a prayer to Saonel and Pirina under his breath.


	5. Chapter 3: Restoring The Tyrant's Domain

Frost lay face-first on the ground of the ship's training room. As Garlic Jr. had promised to him the day before, he had woken up early in the morning to board a restored junk trading ship. The vessel was a long, sturdy ship with many chambers, but slow and with spots of chipped paint still adornings its walls. There was an advantage to the trip's slow pace, at least for Frost: he had plenty of time to not only rest a little more, but also to begin training once again in order to recuperate his former strength. And that's exactly what he had been doing with Garlic Jr.'s burly black accomplice Sansho for the past 2 hours or so.

The brute himself was on the other side of the room. In spite of attempts to keep composure, for this was just a training scenario, he couldn't help but gloat at how he had reduced Frost to a bruised heap trembling and lying on the floor. "I know you're still out of shape, but geez." he said, stomping over to the crumpled-up Arcosian, his steel-toed boots clanking against the red metal floor of the former storage compartment. "I expected better from the former 'Crown Prince of Crime.' Oh, how the mighty have fallen…" Little did he know, however, that as he was lying on the ground, Frost was grinning. _The simpleton is falling for it,_ he thought to himself, barely concealing a snicker at the thought of his next action. Sure enough, he was enveloped by the shadow of the hulking behemoth Sansho, who eagerly reached for his training partner's tail. Suddenly, the tail jutted out at high speed, doubling in size as it wrapped around Sansho's exposed neck. Desperately clawing at the tail, he failed to notice Frost, turning his still-smiling face towards him while pointing his taloned toes outward. Like a spring, his tail retracted, propelling Frost's body at Sansho's face to deliver a forceful kick with his outstretched leg. He then released his tail and fell to the floor, standing back up to see the brute reeling back, hands covering his face, a small bit of dark purple blood dripping and staining his fingers. Frost did not take this gesture of helplessness lightly. He wasted no time sprinting towards his prey. Like a lizard, he climbed up Sansho's armor, weaving out of the way of his desperate, pained punches, one of which struck and cracked his own chestplate, barely missing Frost's tail. Eventually, he climbed onto his back. While Sansho's hands reached back trying to scrape the slender, white-and-blue alien, the latter focused on his left arm. Out of either side of his wrist, a pair of cartilage tweezers protruded. Still donning that same expression of demented glee, Frost hopped off Sansho's back, but not before clasping the tweezers on the brute's ear and yanking down the ear to Frost's mouth. "Back in my days as a grunt, I used these babies to pull out teeth." the reptilian humanoid boasted, cocking back his right arm, wrapping his clawed hand into a fist. "Even after I mostly stopped getting my hands dirty, I still found other uses for them. I suppose we can add 'restraining the dull-minded' to that list." He recoiled his fist farther before socking it into Sansho's forehead, bloodying his face further as he fell down in a similar position to what Frost had been in but a minute ago.

"I think it's time we took a quick break." the Arcosian suggested, helping Sansho up to his feet. He quickly fetched some medicine for the pair's wounds from a nearby container as well as some refreshments from the cooler immediately above it. As they re-invigorated themselves with cans of Balsa juice, Frost wanted to continue training. But the minion's bizarre strength piqued his curiosity. Rather than continuing the training, he gestured his training partner to sit down for a talk.

"You know Sansho, you're shockingly strong." Frost began. "Over the course of my criminal career, I've seen some powerful minions and grunts, some who have even gone on to surpass and dethrone their masters." _I would know because I was among them_ , Frost snarkily thought to himself as he was talking. "But you… you're something else. In terms of raw strength, you blow every grunt, and even some crime lords, out of the water. And to think a Namekian could do this…"

Sansho raised a hand and interrupted his comrade's diatribe. "Wait… you actually think I'm a Namekian?" he stifled laughter as he continued. "What, do you just judge the race of every person you see based on the shape of their ears? No, I'm not one of those guys. At least, not entirely." He paused again, this time adopting a pensive look.

"You ever heard of the Makyans, Frost?" this remark caught the crime lord's steadily waning attention back to him. "Makyans?" Frost said, "You mean the Namekian hybrid race? I thought that was just another one of their silly legends. Didn't it go something like 'blah blah cross-breeding is impure and evil blah blah Namekians should never cross their genes with other species blah blah it's the equivalent of selling one's soul to the devil'?" The tone at which Frost told this unflattering summary had a noticeable tinge of sarcasm to it, mocking such a backwards belief. It was this sarcasm that caused Sansho to slap his Balsa can on his criss-crossed legs in uncontrollable laughter. "You got it!" replied the brute. "And yup, we do exist. Garlic Jr. and I are the real deal, the genuine article!" Frost couldn't help but laugh at Sansho's enthusiasm. "You may not have the best reflexes," he began, "but you sure are easy to get around. When all this is over, my first priority will be to teach you the finesse and discipline you need to truly make good use of your brute strength." Sansho scratched the back of his head, smiling broadly and sincerely. By this point, Frost had totally forgotten about where this power that could challenge him had come; he just wanted to know more about the man who wielded it.

"So if Makyans such as yourself are real, why haven't I seen or heard from more of you?" At this question, Sansho's smile faded. He let out a loud sigh before beginning his speech. "Exile. You see, Garlic Jr.'s grandfather was kind of a revolutionary. He wasn't just a formidable warrior: He was also a brilliant scientist. While his son, Garlic Jr.'s father, was still being incubated, he injected the egg with the genes of a bunch of different species. Some of them weren't even from Universe 6! While the idea had existed in legend and scripture for a while, Garlic Sr. was the first recorded instance of a living, breathing Makyan, and by all accounts, he was superior to his peers. He was faster, stronger, brighter than all the other hatchlings, and had a host of new abilities thanks to his hybrid DNA, ranging from natural flight to being able to breathe in space."

Sansho looked side to side and to the door of the room before continuing his tale.

"They feared him, Frost. The Elders, many of the villagers, all of them feared him. No matter how much Grandpa Garlic tried to convince them, the Elders and their cult refused to let it stand."

Frost was beginning to notice Sansho's changing inflection. He had started out friendly and calm, as if he was reading a bedtime story, but now his voice was slowly descending into a guttural growl, each word being tipped more and more in sharp, impassioned rage.

"Now, not all of the villagers were as willing to jump to conclusions as the Elders were. A select few of them actively came to Grandpa Garlic's defense. We were still a minority, but our numbers grew to the point where civil war within the tribe was a legitimate possibility. And for as unwilling to see the light in this situation as they were, the Elders knew they could not do battle with us; they knew full and well they were outclassed. So they made a deal; Grandpa Garlic, Garlic Sr. and all of their followers would be assigned a planet they would move to; we later named it the Makyo Star. This arrangement was kept a secret within our tribe so as not to lead to possible interplanetary interference. Those old worms thought they could get away with one final act of deception, however; turns out our new domain was completely inhospitable for an average Namekian. Thanks to their utter lack of foresight, however, they didn't think to search Grandpa Garlic's old hut, and he was able to sneak aboard a case of DNA samples on the ship that carried us to the Makyo Star. And while the original defenders were unable to cope with the conditions and died out, their children and grandchildren, myself and Nicky included, were more than capable of making a living there with our new gifts."

"Back on Namek, the Elders realized their foolish mistake, and took great care to not talk about us. When Garlic Sr. was… …unfortunately slain, they claimed he was just another Namekian who had cast a spell to summon some demons. That's what they called us, Frost. Demons. After all, if it came out that the very people they had exiled for being superior came back to nearly kill them and several other systems, why, their greatest grandchildren wouldn't be able to live down the dishonor."

"Good job, Sansho. You have memorized the story well."

The burly Makyan jumped to his feet at the sight of the unhooded Garlic Jr standing in front of the now totally ajar door, the elder Nicky immediately behind him. Frost was startled as well. "I-I'm sorry brother," Sansho muttered, the edge in his voice totally replaced by embarrassment, "I hope you weren't offended by me speaking badly of your father!" Garlic in turn merely laughed. "It's OK, Sansho. Truth be told, I'm grateful to you for giving our new guest a little history lesson." he said, briefly turning his head to Frost. "Anyways, I'm just here to tell you that, assuming Nicky's calculations are correct, we should reach our destination in 3 hours. I will allow the both of you to resume your training, but first I need to show Frost something." He gestured to the Arcosian to come over. And so he did, following Garlic Jr. and Nicky out of the training room and into the yellowed, dank hallway. As they walked, Frost had one thought on his mind: _How had Garlic Jr. walked into the room and listened to the conversation without making any noise?_ He was so busy pondering this question that he initially failed to notice they had stopped at a dead end. When he did snap back to reality, he saw Nicky pull out a key from a pocket beneath his white drapes. He placed the key into a small hole at the bottom of the wall. Frost gasped as Nicky opened up a large drawer embedded in the wall containing a full set of Dragon Balls.

* * *

A group of soldiers patrolled the outskirts of the ruined castle. They climbed up the various rocks and broken walls with rifles in hand scouting the area for intruders, the only sound they made being that of their gas helmets with tubes at the mouth connecting to the oxygen tanks on their backs. As part of their routine, the 5 soldiers outside the castle reconvened at the entrance of the ruined castle, their once pristine white combat suits now covered in multi-colored stains from the trash and filth they had been forced to wade through. "Persimmon, remind me again," one of the soldiers asked, "What exactly are we doing lounging around here?" A slimmer, smaller soldier replied in a distinctly female voice. "We're here to protect the trash disposal personnel, remember? There's also the castle too. It's been the subject of quite a few failed robberies over the years. What's in there that's so special as to drag oneself over to this junkyard, I don't know, but the point is that it's a dirty thankless job that _somebody_ has to do." Just then, Persimmon's visor began to flash with a sequence of inverted yellow symbols visible from the other troopers.

"Captain Persimmon here. ...Oh? ...Yes, I understand. We'll get on it." Her communicator flickered off as she faced back towards the others. "We just got a signal from one of the trash compactor workers. They spotted an unidentified ship entering the planet's orbit." Just then, the loud whir of an engine made the troop look up to see a rusty old cruiser flying through the murky red skies of the Makyo Star, seemingly preparing to land on a nearby bluff. This sight removed the troopers' edge; it was looking like another petty trash hoarder.

One man wasn't so sure, however. He was standing on top of the ruined castle's highest worn stone tower, only reachable via a broken bridge just short enough for the man to carefully step over. He wore identical attire to the other soldiers, only he was much bigger and fatter than any of the others, his jumpsuit just barely managing to stretch to accomodate his large belly and his oxygen tank looking puny compared to the size of his back. He had been the first to see the ship pass through, and while his comrades made their way towards the vessel's landing sight, he had decided to lay back and observe, for he could've sworn that he saw his old partner Frost peeking through one of the dirty windows of the junker.

* * *

The ship landed on a bluff, giving its passengers a high vantage point of the ruined castle. As the four got out, Sansho scoffed at the sight before him. "Those runts… ...They turned our planet into a garbage dump!" Standing right beside the brute and directly behind Garlic Jr. Frost was surprised at the remark. "Wait… this is the Makyo Star? Not exactly what I think of upon hearing the word 'star'." Meanwhile, Garlic Jr. was at the front of the party, surveying the land before the steep drop. Even from this height, he could see various white figures stationed in front of his once-glorious palace. Turning to the rest of the group, he laid out his plan. "Nicky and I will stay with the ship. Sansho, Frost, you two will go down there and search around and inside the palace for anyone else who could stand in our way and dispose of them. Now get going!"

While their master and wiseman stayed behind, Sansho and Frost advanced headfirst down the slope. Using their feet to slow themselves as they dragged downwards, they took a good look at the dirt path that led to the rusty, cracked front gate of the palace, with garbage mounds and tall rock formations interspersed on either side of this path. They didn't even walk a dozen steps down the path before they were stopped by a feminine voice filtered through an oxygen mask. "Stop right there." The black Makyan and his new friend looked up to see 5 soldiers, 2 of which were on either side on top of the brown boulders, and the 5th, the one who had just spoken, was in the middle of the path. "This is restricted territory, and you are not permitted here." She turned to Frost, who was curiously scanning the men before him. "Especially not you, Frost." the female soldier said, pointing her rifle at directly at the alien. "Let me tell you, this job is a dirty and unpleasant one, but when I turn you in, you'll be the one wallowing in a filthy cell, while me and my men will live new lives of fame and luxury." Sansho was angered by the fact the troopers were ignoring him, and he was just about ready to clobber them when Frost put his hand up to stop him. He whispered something to him that transformed the Makyan's frustrated expression into a more neutral one; a smile would've given away the incoming act of deception.

"Very well then," said Frost, "in that case, I'll surrender." He raised his arms in the air. "I'm no match for you. Even if I was stronger, your gun would easily be able to fell me in a fight." Persimmon felt a storm of very mixed feelings, looking upon the seemingly helpless and resigned Frost. The truth was that underneath that thin sheet of composure she was only barely maintaining was abject horror. On one hand, she was almost certain the criminal was lying, attempting to lull her into a false sense of security to more easily deal the killing blow. And yet, she couldn't let this opportunity go. On the off-chance he was telling the truth, this could be her big break, her chance to become a high-ranking crimefighter, or even just use the reward money to retire then and there. Either way, she was staring death in the face, so she figured that it would be worth a try.

One minute later, Frost and Sansho were handcuffed, both of their arms being firmly held by two soldiers each. As they were guided to a nearby guard ship, Persimmon's cautiousness faded. The two had more than enough strength to fight hand-to-hand even while restrained, and yet they chose to go along with it. Perhaps they had resigned themselves; maybe Frost and the strange man had chosen to abandon their criminal ways and turn themselves in…

This moment of solace was interrupted by agonized screams. Persimmon jolted back to see an unrestrained Frost, his two guards having white-hot pieces of the handcuff's metal piercing their jumpsuits and digging into their steadily burning flesh. "Oh dear, looks like I concentrated a bit too hard." Frost said with a patronizing demeanor. Persimmon reached for her rifle, but not before a large hand placed itself on the top of her head.

 _CRACK!_

Persimmon fell to the ground, her head having been twisted by Sansho's iron grip to the point of snapping of her neck, instantly killing her. Sansho's guards too had been similarly brutalized, and a couple of quick Death Beams from Frost finished off the 2 remaining guards, still reeling from the burning metal shards lodged into their abdomen. Before resuming their walk, Sansho slipped off the helmet of the deceased Persimmon. Flowing black hair drooped to her side, her face white with glassy blue eyes. "Bloody Tuffles, all brains, no brawn. I'm sure they would see me as an inferior if I ever went daft enough to try to integrate into their society, but at least I don't keel over if the wind's blowing a little too hard" said the Makyan. He then looked back at the ruined palace down the road, and he and Frost began to walk again.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the bluff, Garlic had observed his minions' run-in with the guards and how effortlessly they had managed to dispose of them, even as they toyed around initially. "Oh, Master Garlic!" the hoarse, elderly voice of Nicky called. The titular Makyan turned around to see his accomplice had put all the Dragon Balls into place. He walked over, beginning the ritual to summon the dragon. From the carefully placed orbs came out an extremely long, slender dragon coated in blinding light. As the beast grew, the red skies were covered in unnatural dark clouds. Eventually, the dragon fully extended and its armor of light faded away, revealing an extremely long creature with blue skin and a single red eye in the center of his scaly horned head.

"I AM THE ETERNAL DRAGON. I SHALL GRANT YOU THREE WISHES."

Garlic Jr. cleared his throat before confidently speaking. "Excellent. For my first wish…"

* * *

Frost and Sansho passed the gate and entered the ruined palace. Upon entering entering, they were met by a two-floored, dimly lit hall, doorways littered throughout leading into other rooms. The room they were in was composed of cracked, mossy blue stone. Frost looked up to see half of the roof was completely gone. Through this opening, he saw that the sky was now hidden by a layer of clouds. Sure enough, upon looking back out the entrance, he saw a large blue dragon on the bluff where they had come from. He was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder from Sansho. Frost looked back to the end of the room. The doorway there was blocked by another soldier. Unlike the others, however, this one was far bigger and wider, towering over he and Sansho by a fair amount. Frost's accomplice charged at the trooper, delivering a firm kick in the being's abdomen. To the Makyan's shock, the strike did nothing; the recipient of the attack hadn't so much as acknowledged it. Before he could try another attack, the soldier swatted Sansho away with his broad, long left arm, making his opponent drag across the floor. While Sansho lay on the ground in pain and confusion, Frost chimed in.

"I would appreciate it if you stopped insulting my intelligence, Botamo. You could wish to become invisible and your width would still foil any attempt at being mysterious and intimidating."

The armored Botamo gave the ground a light stomp of frustration. "Your insults mean nothing if you can't even hurt me." he growled. Sansho, with some difficulty, rose up to a kneel. "You know this guy, Frost?" "You can say we have a bit of history, yes." The Arcosian replied. "I knew him to an extent when I was a grunt. We were never particularly friendly towards one another, but we did work together when the situation mandated it. We even competed together in the Tournament of Power." He turned back towards the suited-up Botamo and continued. "His body transports the force of any attack to a parallel dimension, making him effectively impervious to normal damage. I wouldn't let that intimidate you, however. Aside from being a one-trick-pony, he is slothful and arrogant. He never bothered to seek training to improve his knowledge of fighting, because he felt he was too good for it, and his reflexes and discipline are comparable to that of a newborn; any remotely tricky technique will blindside him. Why else would a being with the potential to take on Gods be relegated to working in a garbage dump…"

Even through his mask, Frost could see Botamo twitching and struggling to contain his anger. But then, the giant took a deep breath and spoke again. "Oh yeah? What techniques? We're not in a ring-out tournament anymore, Frost. You either have to disarm or kill me, and I quite frankly don't see how you're going to do that." In response, Sansho got up and charged at Botamo again, this time lifting him up, his muscles contracting as he raised him into the air. At first, the bulky being flailed around helplessly, his arms and legs not being able to feel solid ground. But then he relaxed his arms and outstretched his legs. From his new white combat boots, blue jets of flame emerged, propelling Botamo out of Sansho's grip and into the air, eventually landing himself between the Makyan and Frost. "You think I'm going to fall for that one again?" Botamo taunted. Suddenly, almost like magic, the scene around them began to change. The ruined walls of the castle began to mend themselves; the cracks and gaps in the tiles were replaced by brand new ones. The long-gone or busted-up doors regenerated, and the moss and vines interspersed throughout the room shriveled up and faded to dust. _The Dragon Balls!_ Frost thought. Before he could look outside to confirm his suspicion, however, a familiar voice echoed throughout the room.

"Leave this to me." croaked Garlic Jr. Standing within the frame of the palace entrance, his shadow dropped itself up to Botamo's feet. He walked towards the armored behemoth, shoving Frost aside as he did so. Eventually, he was not even half a meter away from Botamo, who was looking down upon him. Garlic craned his neck and stared right back at him. "And what are you gonna do, pipsqueak?" said Botamo. Frost stepped back a bit at this remark. What was Garlic Jr. going to do? He looked over at Sansho, expecting a similarly worried look. However, there was not a trace of worry on his expression. In fact, he had taken on a crooked smile, pure bloodlust visible in his crazed yellow eyes. Frost looked back at Garlic Jr. He was not doing anything, he was just standing there. Frost then shifted his glance down to the Makyan's pockets; inside them, he was quite literally twiddling his fingers. Their shaking and stretching grew faster and stronger, pushing the black fabric of his pockets further outward. And then… nothing. The strange motions had seemingly stopped.

The Arcosian was subsequently startled by an utterly horrific scream of agony. He looked back up to see Botamo, still armored and clutching his chest in pain. His right arm involuntarily twitched and smashed its user in his helmet, revealing a right eye on a bruised yellow head whose pupil was dilated out of terror. Botamo fell to knees, still screaming with blood dripping out of his oxygen mask onto the otherwise stainless stone floor with every choked cough he made. After a series of wild convulsions, he made one last attempt to rise up, still shaking and coughing. As he did so, Frost noticed two objects reaching out of his chest, pushing it outward. Sure enough, two light green claws pierced out of Botamo through his abdomen. The giant made one final yell before the pair of claws retracted back inside of his body and he collapsed. Immediately afterward, Garlic Jr. pulled his hands out of his pockets. He held them up, looking on in glee as he let the blood from them flow onto the tip of his robe. He then gestured Frost and Sansho to continue onward with him down the hall. Walking down, Sansho and Garlic whispered and laughed with each other, while all Frost could summon was a nervous chuckle. He took one final look at the crippled Botamo before heading off with the rest of the party.

* * *

The rest of the walk through the palace was unremarkable. For the next 20 minutes or so, Garlic Jr.'s minions were tasked with scouting the various rooms of the palace for any additional soldiers as they searched through it. As it turns out, there were plenty of troopers left who had been aroused by the fall of Botamo and the sudden restoration of the castle. At first, it was rather entertaining for the former crimelord and Sansho to get their hands dirty after so long, but the soldiers' low power levels made them more of a chore than anything to be disposed of. Eventually, Frost became so bored while blasting down all the soldiers that he was scarcely paying attention when Garlic Jr. reached the other end of the palace, where a giant steel door stood. He opened the door and turned on the light to the room. Inside was a giant circular control room, filled with all manner of gadgets and computers. The room's upper half was covered by a glass dome, allowing the people inside a look at the Makyo Star's starry red sky, a mountain in its line of sight. In the center was a large glass tube of some sorts. At the very end of this room was a console with a single red button on it. "My father's pride…" Garlic Jr. began to whisper, eyeing and dragging his hands gently across the various control panels, finally reaching the button at the end. Before he could press it, Frost remembered something. "Garlic! What happened to Nicky?" The Makyan turned towards him. "After I made my wishes to the Dragon, I decided he had finally served his purpose, so I absorbed him. I am, after all, still part Namekian. Not very strong, but it's better than him limping around and getting himself killed." Even Frost was offput by this cold demeanor Garlic had towards his supposed lifelong accomplice. Sansho, on the other hand, didn't seem to care much. If he did, he certainly didn't show it.

Finally, Garlic Jr. pressed the button. All of the consoles suddenly flared to life, and the ground shook and rumbled. The glass tube at the center also began to activate; it was clearly some sort of generator. There was no fuel inside the tube, however; instead, a black portal with a wild yellow outline and black electricity sparking out of it slowly appeared and grew inside the tube. Frost looked backed up, and he saw that the mountain that had been visible through the dome earlier had vanished. The castle appeared to be floating!

The room continued to tremble as Garlic Jr. began a diatribe while staring at the generator. "Like his own father, mine was keen for science and discovery. Seeing as his ancestor had already learned all there was to know about the potential of Makyans, he decided to pursue a new field we were not yet proficient with; war technology. During his research, he learned about Destruction Energy. Yes, as in the energy Gods of Destruction use." He said, seeing Frost's mouth agape in supple shock. "He unfortunately never learned to actually wield this energy, as the training required to use it was far too specialized for him to learn without a God's help. However, he discovered something else…"

Garlic Jr. pointed out at the generator. "That right there is a portal to the Dead Zone. The Dead Zone itself is an alternate dimension, composed purely of Destruction Energy, its existence totally unknown to most mortals and kept a tight secret amongst the Gods. There is a reason for this." He now saw how Frost was clearly confused. "Think about it: When a God of Destruction "destroys" something, does he really destroy it? They can break many laws, including being able to create matter. There is one law, however, that not even Zen-Oh can break. For while they can create new life or objects, they can never _ever_ truly destroy it. This is where the Dead Zone comes in. When a divine being destroys a creature or object, it is sent to the Dead Zone. In the case of living creatures, they are restrained by the Destruction Energy, effectively sedated. My brilliant father was able to figure out how to open portals to the Dead Zone and draw the near-infinite power of its Destruction Energy to power the mechanisms of this palace. Being a reincarnation of my late father, I myself can make small portals on my own. It's how I was able to disable that lumbering dolt who tried to stop us earlier!" To show off his power, Garlic outstretched his hands to his side, making two portals to either side of him. He put his hands inside them, and they came out via two more portals right in front of Frost and Sansho.

Garlic Jr. closed the portals and returned to one of the computers, resting his hands on it. "There is one more thing, however. While I myself can make small portals, my father was able to create a weapon that could do so much more. He almost got a chance to use it. But you see, his knowledge made him dangerous in the eyes of the Gods. Before my poor father could exact his rightful revenge, that obese pig Champa intervened and… …destroyed him. I have made sure not to repeat that mistake, however! With the help of one of my wishes, I was able to put the God of Destruction Champa, the Angel Vados and even the Kaioshin Fuwa under a sleeping spell for 3 days. That's more than enough time to put our new weapon to the test. And I know just what to use it on…"

* * *

At the other side of the palace, a Tuffle soldier groggily slipped his eyes open. Lying on the ground, he rose himself up and out of his dorm room to find what he had feared the most. Scattered throughout the front hallway of the palace were scores of dead, bleeding soldiers. He tried to get up to walk, possibly resuscitate a few. However, as he arose, he felt a horrid jolt of pain in his left leg. He looked down to see a cauterized hole in his kneecap, likely left there by a beam attack from one of the criminals that had come through earlier. The first thing the soldier did was try to get down to the first floor. With great difficulty, he limped his way to the main staircase. At the bottom were even more bleeding bodies, including a particularly large one still shuddering in pain. _They even took out Botamo_ , the soldier thought to himself, shuddering as he did so. But there was no way he could help him; he was in zero shape to climb down those stairs, and even if he was, the noise could potentially attract his doom. He had no idea where any of those beasts that had mowed down his platoon were, if they were even still inside the palace at all. But then the soldier looked up and saw something else. The front entrance to the palace was not only fully repaired as was the whole room, but it was slightly ajar, allowing a view outside. The trooper activated the scanner on his cracked but still functional visor. By zooming in on the ajar space, he could make out that the scenery outside had changed. He then realized that it all looked smaller… as if the palace was above it.

The soldier now knew for sure he was a dead man. Even if he had survived the initial assault, the criminals would surely find him in his condition and kill him then, having nowhere to run to. After all, who else could be piloting this thing and allowing to fly? The soldier limped back to the room he had come from, closing and locking the door behind him. It would likely do no good once he was spotted, but it still gave him some momentary facade of security. In the corner of the room was a large monitor. The soldier hastily logged in to the computer, shaking off the throbbing pain in his leg as he opened up the communication channel after scrolling through some menus. Eventually, he reached his destination. Taking one final look around the room and towards the door, he frantically keyed in a distress signal addressed to the Planet Sadal Ministry of Defense.


	6. Chapter 4: The Signal

It was a quiet night in the main office of the Sadal Ministry of Defense. The artificially-lit set of cubicles contained the various night shift workers, some scanning through computer files while others rested or goofed off from their work, having nothing else to do. Through the window on the second floor, one could see the dorms for the soldiers and by extent the rest of the military complex, only lit by the dim white rays of the moonlight at this hour. This floor, unlike the boxed-in cubicles of the first, was a largely open area with plenty of large monitors attached to the walls. Personnel with lab coats and higher-ranking soldiers alike took great care to monitor and protect the files on these computers, Commander Cabba supervised the employees as they looked through and secured various military records. Every high-ranking soldier took the night shift at the front desk at some point each week, and it was Cabba's turn this night.

The tranquil workplace was disturbed by the activation of an alarm from one of the computers. The workers flocked around to the central computer, a red symbol warning of an incoming distress signal on a newly opened tab. One employee raised the device's volume close to its maximum as Cabba took a seat and opened up the call. While the image was somewhat blurry, one of the trash compactor soldiers from Disposal Planet 3 could be seen on the other end, his helmet cracked and caked with dirt. The door to the dark room he was in mostly obscured and had its steel door closed. The trooper began to speak in a low whisper, nearly every other word laced in panic. "Listen… …I don't have… ...much time. Almost all of the soldiers are dead… ...our best man is grievously injured. I tried… ...to get him out of there, but he's on the first floor, and I can't climb down the stairs... ...for I have been shot in the leg."

"Stay calm, OK?" Cabba replied. "Can you describe the person or people that shot you and your men?" The soldier took another glance at the closed door before continuing. "I didn't get a good look at them before I was knocked out… ...one of them looked like an Arcosian. He had a blue membrane. Then there was a small creature... ...and a very large… ...dark gray one. That's all I remember." As a tall, blue alien in a lab coat near Cabba's computer listened to and jotted down notes on the vague descriptions given, the captain took increasing amounts of pity for the trooper. He had seen fearful, paranoid distress calls before, but nothing that had an effect on his mood like this. The man was trembling, taking breaks every few words to choke back tears. Any sound that wasn't that of talking, whether it be a bump, a creak or even a tap on a desk or the clicking of keys on Cabba's side made the soldier jump. This wasn't even the worst thing he had heard of or seen in his career: He had heard stories of pure hysteria before, women and children sobbing and heaving, fearing for their life ever more with each second that passed in their desperate cries for help. He had even seen a similar situation once: A young, pink-skinned woman on a space station whose only room was being consumed by a rapidly spreading gas fire. But there was something about this man in particular, the way he was expending every fiber of his will to keep composure in the face of the massacre he had just witnessed, that chilled Cabba to the bone and upset him more than any of the horror stories or his personal experiences.

"Listen, hang in there. I'll be sending soldiers over to Disposal Planet 3 right away. Stay onli-"

"I'm afraid it won't do, Commander Cabba. I'm not on-world right now."

"Hm?"

"Those criminals… ...I don't know what they did, but they fully repaired the palace and got it airborne. I'm pretty sure that if we haven't left the atmosphere yet, we will in a few minutes."

"Palace? What palace? And how did they repair it and get it flying?"

"Amongst... ...the garbage on DP-3, there... ...were ruins of… ...some kind of castle. We don't know... ..the history behind it, but that's... ...irrelevant right now. The criminals… ...they did something… ...magic of some kind that… ...spontaneously repaired… ...the castle… ...and let it fly."

The scene within the office had steadily deteriorated into total confusion. The blue alien struggled to scribble down notes in spite of the progressively spottier, more unstable connection. All around, soldiers and technicians were murmuring, trying to piece together what was happening. But amongst them, there was one technician who showed no reaction, at least superficially. She was a Saiyan, a very old one at that. Her hair was short and gray, her face wrinkled and somewhat pale. She had been intently listening in on the conversation, taking note of every little detail Cabba had been able to extract from the distressed guardsman. She craned her neck back down and leaned against the opposite wall, waiting for more information to be blurted out by the soldier.

"Do you know where this castle is headed?" asked Cabba.

"No," replied the guard, "but I… ...have a… ...sneaking suspicion that…"

The transmission was suddenly interrupted by the ear-splitting cacophony of tearing and scraping metal that made the personnel in the computer lab jump. The soldier's speech and entire body froze for what felt like an eternity to the anxious viewers of the video call. Finally, he mustered the courage to slowly tilt his head towards the source of the sound.

There wasn't a scream, any last words or even a faint gasp. The soldier didn't have the time to muster any of those as his lungs were crushed and shredded to bits by the black, clawed knifehand that impaled the unfortunate trooper, dark red Tuffle blood partially staining the edges of the camera. The hand released itself from the body as it crumpled on to the ground and out of sight. There was now nothing obscuring the muscular black creature staring at the lens, his glistening yellow eyes and satisfied smirk piercing the hearts of the officials on the other side. This staring contest was interrupted by another figure accompanying the creature.

"Goodness, Sansho! Couldn't you have at least had the decency to turn off the feed first?" said a noticeably smaller Arcosian, peeking his head from behind the dark brute's body. A few of the scientists and soldiers on the other side of the screen gasped as they realized it was Frost, the most wanted criminal in the Universe, who had accompanied the beast. Before they could get a better look, Sansho rapidly flung his fist at the camera, reducing the image on the live feed to static.

* * *

A stunned silence engulfed the room. Cabba stared blankly at the fizzling, staticy screen. He had remembered the record the footage, but he couldn't bring himself to look through it.

An elderly female voice then spoke.

"I've seen someone almost exactly like that Sansho fellow before." said the old professor standing in the back of the crowd, now turned towards her. "He resembles one the late Garlic's head minions. I saw him in the newspapers, the Wanted signs! He does look noticeably younger however. Perhaps a descendant of that one?" This created another commotion within the tightly packed office. Cabba could see some of the older soldiers and professors murmuring amongst each other in fear. He had heard horrible fables about Garlic before he was even in school, but that always seemed distant, like a history lesson. Some of the people in the same room, however, were allowing genuine fear to be shown on their expressions, on their mannerisms, in their hushed whispers. "In fact," the woman continued, "he had a son, didn't he? Garlic Jr., he called him. Not the most creative name, but it got the job done. After his father was defeated, Garlic Jr. was assumed to have died along with his army and palace."

"But that's the thing: he was _assumed_ to have died. It was never actually confirmed in any capacity. And remember: Namekians, or at least, whatever kind of Namekian those two beasties were, can live quite a long time. They also don't really need to subsist on much aside from water."

A maddening uproar followed this statement. The personnel, young and old, showed varying degrees of shock before staring at their commander with demanding, worried expressions. Cabba could feel the pressure of all these people staring at him. He couldn't jump to conclusions like this, but…

* * *

The windows were shut inside the third-floor bedroom of the Royal Palace of Sadal. Potat was reading a book in his king-sized bed tucked into the luxurious, embroidered purple sheets, the only source of light in the room being his nightstand lamp. He had just finished up the 8th chapter of the novel he was reading. He placed a bookmark on the page he had left off on and prepared to go to sleep. Suddenly, the gold-plated phone right next to the lamp began to ring. On its base was a screen detailing the information of the caller: The address was from the Sadal Military Research Facility. Potat picked up the phone only to hear a clearly distressed Cabba on the other end. In complete silence, the tired king spent nearly 2 minutes listening to the shaken soldier's detailed description of the distress signal concerning the flying castle, the Tuffle trooper who sent it and the men who brutally slayed him. He ended it with the old woman's theories on Garlic Jr. Potat informed Cabba that he would think about it and call back within a few minutes. His subordinate then hung up. Potat did not drop the phone immediately. Instead, he reached over to the drawers on the other side of his bed. He sifted through them until he found a carefully tucked-away notebook, its slightly yellowed pages containing a bunch of phone numbers, some of which complete inventions. Potat flipped over to the very last page. This page was blank except for a miniscule phone number tucked away in the very bottom-right corner. The number read []. Potat once again reached over to the phone and dialed. The phone rung a few times.

"GODLINE IS NOT AVAILABLE AT THIS TIME." said a very handsome-sounding recording. "PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE-"

Potat slammed the phone down. He picked it up and tried to call again, but to no avail. The number had been given to him many years ago in case a crisis situation should occur which required some "additional help". That tone was intended as a placeholder since some sort of divine figure would normally instantly come over and answer no matter the time of day. The king scrambled out of his bed, now knowing something was very wrong.

* * *

Saonel and Pirina were still sitting on the same balcony they had been earlier that night. The sun was just about to start rising over the city, and as such very few people were up and about on the streets. The pair stared at the lights of the late night in silence; the horrible sensation from earlier had not weakened. In fact, it had gotten a little stronger since earlier in the night. The two Namekians had tried everything from meditation to sparring to ward it off, but nothing seemed to work. They were now trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. Saonel, by virtue of his superior Ki control, was getting closer to the answer than Pirina. It seemed to be… ...in the middle of space? It was moving slightly, however, and it was certainly getting closer. But it wasn't moving towards Sadal.

Before the Namek could trace the ominous energy further, he was interrupted by a Saiyan soldier flying just a few feet away from his head at high speed. He tried to return to his concentration, but then another one came by immediately after. And then another. And then another. Within a few seconds, the sky was nearly covered by an imposing congregation of Saiyan troopers and ships, Saonel and Pirina standing up to look on. The army seemed to all be convening to one spot: North from the Namekians' position towards the Palace of Sadal. The pair looked at each other, nodded and joined the soldiers in their flight.

Citizens living near the Palace were waking up and looking through their windows to see multiple platoons of soldiers aligning in formation in front of the government building's red door. All of the various screens normally broadcasting advertisements throughout the city flared to life, focusing on the growing military audience at the castle. Potat was standing on the front steps, Cabba, Kale and several other Saiyans in commander attire by his side. Among the soldiers flying into the lot were Saonel and Pirina, who came over to Cabba's side.

"What's going on?" asked Saonel. For the second time that night, Cabba explained the scene in the research facility. Saonel turned to see his burly green partner noticeably disturbed by the description. The group to stand next to their King until every soldier was stood before him, tanks and fighter ships crowding the streets in front of the castle. The ruler then spoke into a microphone.

"Citizens of Sadal, it has come to my attention that a crisis may be brewing. Just an hour ago, my loyal commander Cabba and some other personnel received a concerning message. Someone has restored the flying fortress of the tyrannical conqueror Garlic and killed all the men guarding it. In addition, in that message, we saw one of the men involved, and they look suspiciously like one of Garlic's old commanders. "

"I cannot stress this enough: Do not panic." Potat's booming voice echoed across the city via screens appended to all manner of buildings. "We cannot know for sure if these new forces will pose a significant threat to us. For this reason, we shall be sending out Cabba the Super Saiyan Squadron to Namek, the location we have deduced is most likely to be attacked. We are not fully aware of what kinds of weapons are stored within that base, so we should scout them out first. We shall also be sending two Namekians along on the trip to help them navigate the terrain. For the next few days or so, we shall have regular military patrols within and outside the city until we get further information on the gravity of the situation and how much of a threat it poses to us."

Nothing else had to be said at this point. While the normal soldiers adjourned, Cabba, Kale, Saonel, Pirina and several other soldiers piled into the sides of medium-sized carrier ships. The Saiyans put on blue helmets with visors and the same lion symbol on Potat's armor on the sides, while the Namekians stayed in their normal attire. The rest of Cabba's small but powerful troop stuffed inside their or one of 2 other ships before blasting offworld.


	7. What's happening to DBS: Dead Zone?

In short, I'm adding to the pile of dead fanfics and canning it. I've just lost motivation to continue it. This is nothing new: I've had a problem with not finishing my stories for a while now. If nothing else, it's good to know I can scratch off "writer" as a career path...

Do not fret my few fans, it's not all over. You see, my original plan was for the ending of Dead Zone to segue directly into another story I've been brainstorming for a while now. Honestly, my "hype" to write this story has been far greater and has only exacerbated my Dead Zone burn-out.

I won't reveal too much about the new fanfic right now. As you might've guessed, it's another Dragon Ball Super fanfic which'll be focused on the development and growth of one of my new favorite characters. You'll have to wait and see who it is!

The first chapter will be a prologue chapter, which itself will be what the epilogue chapter of Dead Zone was supposed to be, with a few sentences summarizing what was supposed to happen and how the characters would've turned out should I have finished the latter story. I'll be releasing them on a much slower schedule (once a week) to avoid burning myself out in the first stretch. Maybe.


End file.
